CHAPTER XXV
SUBSTITUTES' DAY
A gong clanged. The umpire brushed off home plate with his little whiskbroom. When he turned to face the stands, the fans stilled expectantly.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, "the batteries for to-day's gameare: for Lakeville, Payton and Jones; for Belden, Bonner and Clark."
_Substitute No. 1_
Out in center field, Nap Meeker looked up at the blue sky and said,very solemnly, "This is my lucky day." More than one hundred yearsbefore, history has it, the little Corsican for whom Nap was nicknamedwent forth to battle with these same words on his lips. To both boy andsoldier, perhaps, they marked the summoning of courage for what was tocome.
For Nap dreaded the impending game. He had little skill as a player,and none knew it better than himself. This afternoon, for example, hewould much have preferred to bury his nose in some unread biography ofNapoleon, and live for an hour or more in those stirring times whenambition and accomplishment vaulted straight to a throne.
But he had accepted the challenge to play. As a Boy Scout, he could dono less. Loyalty to his leader, to the team, and to the school, werein his mind as inflexible as must have been the loyalty of Napoleon'ssoldiers to their leader in those other days. Nor was that the limit ofNap's resolution. If he were to play at all, he must actually help tomake victory possible. He must offset his lack of technical skill withstrategy. He must out-guess, out-plan, out-general the opposing team.For hadn't his hero once said that most battles were won in the councilroom, before a shot was fired?
As a result of the toss, which Bunny had won, Belden batted first.Nap shuffled about nervously as the Lakeville captain took his threepractice pitches and Bi shot the last ball to Jump, on second, whoswooped low to tag an imaginary runner. Then the umpire lifted hishand. "Play ball!" he said; and the game was on.
It was hard for Nap to remain inactive during the first half of thatinitial inning. He wished he were a star pitcher, like Bunny, with thebalance of each play hinging upon his delivery; failing that, he evenfound himself hoping a fly ball might come sailing to him. But nothinghappened to test his mettle. The first Belden batter fanned on threepitched balls; the second fouled to Bi, who calmly slipped off his maskand smothered the little pop-up without moving from his tracks; thethird grounded out to Roundy, who made the play unassisted. Then Naptrotted in from the field, only to watch Specs, Jump and Bunny retiredin one-two-three order. He trotted back to center field again. In away, he began to understand what Napoleon meant when, with the warraging elsewhere, he chafed in the city and said, "Paris weighs on melike a leaden mantle."
But in the second inning, opportunity beckoned to Nap. A Belden battershot a stinging grass-clipper straight at S. S., and that youth allowedit to trickle between his legs. The next batter flied over second. Withthe cry, "Let me have it!" Nap came charging in for the catch.
It was not a difficult ball to handle. Jump might have backed under iteasily. But Jump's play just then, with a runner on first, was to guardthe keystone sack. All this Nap sensed in an instant; all this--andsomething more.
The batter was merely trotting toward first. He had no hope of anerror; he could already see the play reported, "Flied out to centerfield." But Nap, racing toward the falling ball, was fairly quiveringwith the hope of a strategy that filled his heart to bursting.
He was under the fly now. He lifted his hands for the catch, stealing afinal glance to assure himself that the batter was still only half wayto first; then, abruptly, he took one backward step, allowed the ballto hit the ground, caught it as it bounced, and shot it unerringly toJump.
There was no need of shouting a warning to Jump. He was baseball wise.He knew what to do. Plumping one foot on the bag, and thus forcing therunner who had been on first, he whipped the ball to Roundy for thesecond put-out, before the astonished batter could galvanize his legsenough to beat the throw. Nap had out-witted batter and runner. Therewere now two out, with nobody on base.
All the Scouts cheered. Bunny shouted some unintelligible word ofthanks and congratulation, accompanied by a broad grin. Stalking backto his position in deep center field, Nap said softly to himself,"I'm glad I did it if it pleases him." Perhaps this was some hazyrecollection of Napoleon's message to Josephine. "I prize victory," hehad written, "since it pleases you."
The last Belden batter that inning swung at three wide balls withoutticking a foul.
For Lakeville, the last half of the second began well. Bi laced a cleansingle over short. Roundy laid down a perfect bunt, and beat out thethrow to first. S. S. walked on four balls. And it was in this tensesituation, bases full and nobody out, that Nap came to bat for thefirst time.
Just at that moment, he would have given a million dollars for theskill to lash out a long hit. But he knew, deep down in his heart, thathe could never do it. Agonizing recollections of his usual attempts,resulting in feeble grounders to some waiting fielder, seared his mind.Already he could foresee the havoc he might create. In all probability,he would bat into a double or even a triple play, that would wipe cleanthe bases, like some remorseless scythe.
His hands slipped up on the handle of the bat. Bonner, the Beldenpitcher, wound up and threw. Before Nap's worried eyes, a little swishof white catapulted over the plate. The umpire jerked a thumb over hisright shoulder. "Strike one!" he said. And Nap had barely seen thatball. No, he could never hit it out.
Bonner pitched again. It was a ball this time, purposely wide of theplate--a coaxer. Nap stood like a statue.
"Ball one!"
A third time the pitcher wound up and threw. A third time Nap did notoffer at the ball.
"Strike two!"
On the bases, the runners took swift leads with each lift of thepitcher's arm, scurrying back like scared rats as the ball thudded intothe catcher's glove. They were curiously silent. Nobody shouted forhim to hit it; each of the three, Nap knew, was afraid he would. Likehim, they feared a double or triple play might result. After all, ifhe stood there and allowed the third strike to be called, it would bebetter than forcing some runner.
He shook himself angrily. How far would Napoleon have gone if he hadchosen to wait impotently? His first rule of warfare was, "Time iseverything." At the thought, Nap gripped the bat more firmly, edgingcloser to the plate. And then, quite accidentally, he caught the signalthat passed from runner to runner--the quick lifting of a finger thatmeant "Steal!"
Almost before he could realize that Bunny and the rest had conceded hisinability to help in this crisis, and had determined on the desperateexpedient of a triple steal, the Belden pitcher was preparing for hislast delivery. Nap watched the wind-up with set, fascinated eyes. Itwas like a snake coiling to strike.
Before the circling arm had completed its queer gyrations, each runnerwas in action. Nap saw the pitcher's smile freeze suddenly. Like agun discharged at half-cock, the ball leaped from his hand and camewhistling toward the batter. In that tick of a second before it reachedthe plate, Nap found himself.
He could not swing and hit it. To try that would be utterly futile.Moreover, Bi could never reach home before the catcher had clamped theball on him. But there was one thing Nap could do. Gripping his batloosely, he held it stiffly before him, squarely in the path of thepitch. Ball sogged against wood and bounced back into the diamond. Atthe sound of the impact, Nap raced for first.
Not till he had reached the base safely, and run beyond it and turnedto the right to come back, did he know what had happened. The littlebunt had proved so totally unexpected that the Belden players werecaught flat-footed. Bi scored. The pitcher, scooping up the ball, shotit toward third, in an attempt to catch Bunny. It was a bad throw, lowand to one side, and the guardian of that sack did well to cuff it asit passed, checking its momentum enough to stop it a dozen feet beyondthe base line.
Without hesitating, Bunny followed Bi to the plate, scoring on his veryheels. S. S. quick to take advantage of the break of luck, scamperedto third. The runs were over, and there were sti
ll two on bases, withnobody out.
But here, unfortunately, Lakeville reached the hopeless end of itsbatting list. Bonfire popped up an easy foul. Prissler--well, Prisslerfanned ignominiously, just as everybody expected he would. Prissler wasno ball player. And Specs' best was a liner straight to the shortstop.
In spite of these minor mishaps, Nap sauntered out to center field witha song on his lips. Twice in that one inning, by tactics comparableto Napoleon's best strategy, he had helped the team. What was itthe little Corsican had said after recapturing Italy? "A few moreevents"--yes, that was it--"a few more events like this campaign, andI shall perhaps go down to posterity." Nap crimsoned guilty at theinference; just the same, his chin shot out pugnaciously. Give himanother chance, and he would wind up this ball game "with a clap ofthunder."
But with that one big inning ended Nap's opportunities. Not anotherball was batted to center field; not once, in the innings thatfollowed, was Nap on base. It was hard to remain inactive, like--likebeing weighed down by a leaden mantle; but the memory of the trappedball and the squeeze play was quite enough to warrant his remarkingoccasionally to himself, "This is my lucky day."
The score:
============================================== INNINGS | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 ----------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+--- Belden | 0 | 0 | | | | | | | Lakeville | 0 | 2 | | | | | | | ==============================================
_Substitute No. 2_
S. S. Zane wanted to help win that game. In the last half of the thirdinning, when Jump dumped a Texas-leaguer into the outfield and perchedproudly on first, S. S. ran out to the coaching line.
"Take a lead!" he called shrilly. "Down with his arm, ol' boy! Watchhim! Watch him!--_Slide!_--Nice work! He'll throw it away yet. He'sno pitcher! See, he's scared green! Make him pitch, Mr. Umpire!Cowardy-calf! I tell you, Jump, he's got a yellow streak! He--"
"S. S.!" It was Bunny's crisp voice.
The coacher turned. At the crooking of his captain's finger, he walkedback to the bench. "What's the matter?"
"You are supposed to be coaching the runner," Bunny told him quietly."That doesn't mean jeering at the pitcher. We don't play that kind ofgame."
S. S. hung his head. "I--I'm sorry, Bunny. I wasn't trying to rattlehim. I just forgot what I was saying, I guess."
There the incident ended. Bunny went out to the coaching box himself,and devoted his attention wholly to Jump. Back on the bench, S. S.swallowed hard.
"I didn't mean anything," he told himself gloomily. "But Bunny's right,of course. Coaching that way isn't good sportsmanship." He eyed theBelden pitcher. "Wonder how I can make it up to Bonner."
The opportunity came in the very next inning. Lakeville failed to scorein the third, and the Belden team came piling in for the first of thefourth.
It began disastrously for Lakeville. There was a patter of hits andan appalling total of errors. The first batter shot a stinging linerjust inside third, which eluded S. S. altogether. The next flied toshort right field, and Prissler lost the ball in the sun. Then Bonfireallowed a grounder to escape between his legs. Jump bobbled an easychance. Roundy dropped a perfect throw. Specs sailed a ball ten feetover first on an attempted put-out. Before Lakeville could settle downto the grim business of retiring the side, three runs were over theplate, and the bases were still full.
When Bunny fanned the next two batters, S. S. was elated, but notparticularly surprised. He knew his captain was at his best in a pinch,and he said as much to the Belden runner on third, who happened to beBonner, the opposing pitcher.
If this were a diplomatic effort to make friends with Bonner bystarting a conversation, it failed dismally. The boy merely nodded,without saying anything at all, and immediately proceeded to edgehis way off the base toward home. S. S. covered his embarrassment byslapping his bare hand into the palm of his glove.
What happened next was wholly unplanned.
There was no guile in the heart of the neatest Scout of the Black EaglePatrol. When he saw that the Belden pitcher's shoestring was looseand dangling, he called attention to it in the most matter-of-fact,good-turn way in the world; and when Bonner glanced down, standing afew feet off third base, and Bunny suddenly snapped the ball to S. S.,the latter caught it mechanically and tagged the runner before he couldscramble back to safety, solely and simply because baseball instincttold him that was the thing to do.
But it was the third out. It nipped a promising rally. And it had allthe earmarks of a carefully planned trick. Bonner looked at S. S. justonce, with such scorn in his steel-blue eyes that S. S. wished withall his heart the earth might open up then and there and swallow himfrom sight.
But he did not abandon his ambition. Sooner or later, he would prove tothat fellow that he could play real ball, and that he was not the kindwho resorted to questionable tactics to win a point.
The last half of the fourth inning was uneventful. Only three Lakevillebatters faced the pitcher--Nap, Bonfire, and Prissler; and, as S. S.confided to Bi, nobody could expect them to do anything. They justifiedhis expectations in every way by fanning unanimously.
Belden threatened again in the fifth inning. With runners on secondand first, and one out, the Lakeville infield played close, to shutoff a run at home. As luck would have it, the batter lashed a stinginggrounder toward S. S.
It was a hard hit ball, that even Sheffield, Lakeville's regular thirdbaseman, would have done well to knock down, much less to field cleanlyfor an out. S. S. missed it altogether. Under the circumstances, thiswas a pardonable error. But his sudden leap, backward and to one side,which threatened a collision with the Belden runner coming from second,made the play look bad.
The runner halted instinctively for a fatal moment. S. S., now betweenhim and the plate, lunged awkwardly for the ball, without getting hishands anywhere near it, and it shot between his legs against theBelden boy.
"Out!" boomed the umpire; "hit by batted ball."
The Belden coacher on third clucked, just clucked. He did not say asingle word. But when S. S. identified him as Bonner, whom he hadalready twice offended, he realized what the boy was thinking. And itwas ridiculously wrong! S. S. had not missed the grounder deliberately;he had tried with all his scant skill to get his hands on the ball.
What was the use, anyhow?
S. S. did not bat in the last half of the fifth, which proved a quickinning. There was a caught fly, a screaming single that kindled hope,and a fast double play that snuffed it as abruptly as it had flamed.Then Belden came to bat again.
Bunny disposed of the first two batters by forcing them to hit weakflies to the infield, but the third lined far out to right, and pulledup at third before Prissler retrieved the ball. Playing deep for thenext batter, S. S. saw the Belden captain stroll up to the plate,grinning cheerfully. He hoped with all his heart that Bunny would fanhim; if he did, S. S. resolved to take revenge for Bonner's impliedinsults by making some casual remark about the way not to hit 'em out.He was beginning to hate that complacent, smiling youngster.
As S. S. waited for Bunny to pitch, his keen eyes, trained to observeby scoutcraft, detected something that made him chuckle outright. Thebat which Bonner was waving belligerently over the plate was the sameone Bunny had used in the preceding inning, when he hit into a doubleplay. At the time, S. S. had marveled at the weak grounder his usuallyreliable captain dribbled to the shortstop's waiting hands, and he hadfound the answer in the broken bat, which had cracked in its impactagainst the ball. And now, blissfully ignorant of the defect, MisterBlue Eyes expected to drive in a run with that decrepit bit of ash.Why, he couldn't hit it out of the diamond in a thousand years!
Bunny pitched a ball just wide of the plate. The batter eyed it withoutswinging.
S. S. chuckled again. But suddenly, without any reason at all, thegurgle died in his throat. Something stronger than his own desireseemed to yank him out of himself, and words that came quite withoutbidding formed on his lips and were spoken.
>
"Hi, Bonner!" they said to the boy at the plate. "That bat's busted."
The Belden captain lifted a wary head. He was clearly suspicious ofsome fresh trick, and he never took his eyes off Bunny. S. S. guessedhe expected a strike might be sneaked over if he turned away. But whenBunny waited politely, the boy banged the end of the bat against theplate. It rang hollowly, and he promptly discarded it for another.
In another minute, when S. S. saw the grounder come zipping towardhim, he wondered why on earth he had warned the batter. This hit ballwas going to be hard to handle. But he set himself, with legs closetogether this time, and waited for it to reach him. He even had timeto judge its speed, and to follow its course through grass and dust,and to decide that he could get the runner at home. He glowed withconfidence.
Just at the last, though, the ball hit a pebble and bounced high overhis head. With a frantic upward fling of his gloved hand, S. S. spearedit neatly. But the unbraced feet and the chug of the ball were toomuch for his balance. He toppled over backward, and sat down with apronounced thump.
It was clearly too late to throw across the diamond to first. If theplay were to be made at all, it must be at home; and S. S. realizedin a flash that by the time he came to his feet and threw, the runnerwould have scored. There was just one thing to do, and he did it. Stillsitting awkwardly on the ground, he drew back his arm and shot the ballwith all his might to the waiting Bi.
The runner slid. But good, old reliable Bi Jones, straddling the plate,took the perfect throw and clamped the ball on him a long ways from therubber--oh, a good three or four inches, S. S. decided. He nodded atthe umpire's decision. The fellow was out, of course; S. S. knew it allthe time.
Coming in to the bench, he passed Bonner, who was grinning a littlewryly. "Thanks," the Belden captain said to S. S.
"For what?" snapped Zane, quickly on the defensive.
"Why, for telling me the bat was broken. I liked that. You didn'tsuppose I was thanking you for throwing out Clark at home, did you?That was a dandy play, let me tell you, even if it was against us; yes,sir, as pretty a stop and throw as I ever saw."
S. S.'s face glowed like a full moon. "Oh, it wasn't much," he saidcarelessly.
But it was. He knew it was. So was the warning about the bat. He hadhelped save the game, and he had proved to the doubting Bonner that hewas a good sportsman. He liked that laughing, blue-eyed, freckle-facedboy; he wished he would move to Lakeville.
The score:
============================================== INNINGS | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 ----------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+--- Belden | 0 | 0 | 0 | 3 | 0 | 0 | | | Lakeville | 0 | 2 | 0 | 0 | 0 | | | | ==============================================
_Substitute No. 3_
Prissler, at the tail-end of the batting list, had already struck outtwice, and he expected to do it again when he faced the Belden pitcherin the last half of the sixth inning. Instead, he walked on four balls.
Somehow, it did not seem quite fair. He had done nothing to deservethe honor of being a base runner, and he felt a little sorry thatthe rules permitted him to profit by the pitcher's wildness. He wason first, precisely as he would have been after hitting safely. Yethe had made no hit; had not the skill, indeed, to make one. In someunaccountable manner, he had gained an advantage he did not deserve.
Prissler had batted first in that inning. Specs, up next, flied out.Jump fanned. There were now two out, with Bunny at bat.
After allowing the first pitched ball to sing past without offering atit, Bunny met the second squarely. At the crack of the bat, Prisslerdashed for second.
"It's a homer!" shrieked Specs excitedly. He was coaching off third."Come on, Prissy! Come on!"
Both the shortstop and the second baseman were facing the outfield,watching the soaring ball. Prissler touched the bag and wheeled towardthird. At that corner of the diamond, Specs was executing a war-dance,with wildly swinging arms.
"Go on in, Prissy!" he yelled, waving him toward home. "Come on, Bunny!Come on!"
Prissler crossed the plate standing up. Bunny, close behind, flunghimself toward the white rubber in a headlong slide. It was nip andtuck between ball and runner, but the latter beat the throw by inches.
"--safe!" came the tag of the umpire's decision. At the word, Prisslerexperienced an irresistible desire to turn a somersault; and did it,moreover, to the profound amazement of the Lakeville team, which hadnever seen him so undignified before.
But it was excusable. Not only had the Lakeville boys tied the score,but they were now leading by one run.
After the decision, the Belden catcher straightened up, with the ballresting in his big glove. He wrapped the fingers of his right handabout it, and drew back his arm for the throw to his pitcher. Then, asif changing his mind, he shot it to the third baseman, who caught itand stamped a decisive foot upon the sack.
The umpire shook his head. Prissler, watching the pantomime, wrinkledhis brow. He wondered what it all meant.
"But I tell you he didn't," the third baseman said angrily. "That firstrunner didn't touch the bag at all. He cut across 'way out there."
Again the umpire shook his head.
Now Prissler began to understand. They were claiming he had failed totouch third before starting for home. He tried to remember. He had beenrunning from second, toward Specs, who had waved him to keep on. He hadanswered the signal by turning in the direction of the plate and--
"He is right," Prissler told the umpire suddenly. "I _did_ cut acrossthe corner of the diamond without touching third."
He could not understand the stunned silence that followed. Specs' jawdropped in consternation. One of the other fellows coughed unnaturally.In the eyes of the two or three Belden players within hearing grew aqueer light of grudging admiration. With an effort, the umpire foundhis voice.
"Runner is out at third," he ruled.
So, after all, the two runs did not count. Technically, Bunny's longhit could be scored as only a two-bagger, although he had circled thebases before the ball could be relayed home. Moreover, the inning wasover.
The seventh began badly. Perhaps Bunny was still winded; perhaps thedisappointment kept him from pitching his best. Whatever the reason,the first two batters hit safely, the third advanced them with a neatsacrifice bunt, and only Jump's bare-handed catch of a liner preventedimmediate scoring. Then, in his eagerness to keep the ball out of thegroove, Bunny walked another, filling the bases, with two out.
In right field, Prissler stooped nervously and plucked a blade ofgrass. Without quite understanding why, he felt he was indirectly toblame for the threatening situation. It dated back to that play atthird, upon which the umpire had reversed his decision.
"But I was out fairly," Prissler told himself wonderingly, kicking at atuft of roots. "I couldn't say anything else, could I?"
He looked up just in time to see the Belden batter swing viciouslyagainst a pitched ball. It was a low fly, and it lifted straight towardright field.
In his first flurry of indecision, Prissler stood stock-still, therebyproving himself a poor fielder. Any expert player would have been uponhis toes and away before the crash of meeting bat and ball had dwindledto an echo; for it was obvious that the fly must fall in short rightfield, just beyond reach of the second baseman.
But Prissler's tardy recognition of this fact was only momentary. Inanother instant, he was in action, racing with all his might toward thefalling ball, and noting, out of the corner of his eye, that the Beldenrunners were circling the bases like some human merry-go-round. If hemissed the catch, at least three runs would score.
But it looked impossible. The ball was falling like a plummet, well outof reach of his extended hands. He pumped his legs desperately. Bunnymight have made it in time, or Specs, or some of those other fellowswho had the knack of sprinting. He was afraid he couldn't.
With only a tantalizing step or two to cover, Prissler saw that theball was nearly level with his eyes. He threw hims
elf forward, in avery frenzy of determination. He felt himself falling. But he nevertook his eyes from that white comet. As he plunged to the earth, in agreat welter of dust, his hands thrust forth spasmodically.
Something drove hard against his glove, slapping it to the ground.Instinctively, his left hand leaped to cover the precious ball. Ashoulder hit wrenchingly, toppling him over in a curious tumble, fromwhich he recovered with astonishing agility, coming to his feet likesome jack-in-the-box, and trotting on into the diamond, with the ballheld proudly aloft.
Instantly, there grew a confusion of shouts.
"He didn't catch it!"
"Trapped it; that's what he did!"
"No, he didn't, either!"
"Certainly, he did!"
Prissler smiled. He knew. He looked at the umpire for confirmation.But the official was standing there motionless, with a questioningexpression on his face that said, as plainly as words, "I don't knowwhether the ball was trapped or caught." Prissler seemed to go cold allover.
But the umpire was a very wise man. He looked the boy straight in theeyes.
"Did you catch it?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," said Prissler, "I did. I caught it fair and square."
"Batter is out!" declared the umpire, with just a hint of defiance inhis voice. He expected a volley of protest.
The Belden third baseman looked at the Belden catcher, and they bothlooked at their blue-eyed, freckle-faced captain. Each one rememberedthe other play in which Prissler had figured. To their credit,be it said all three smiled bravely in the face of their bitterdisappointment.
"If he says he caught it," the Belden captain nodded soberly, "we knowhe did." The catcher and the third baseman agreed. Not a single Beldenplayer questioned the evidence.
This decision, when you come to think it over, was about as splendida tribute to the honesty of a player as baseball history records. ButPrissler saw nothing remarkable about it. He had caught the ball, andit was no more than fair that the batter should be called out. Whatpleased him most was the fact that the runs which had crowded over theplate did not count.
The score:
============================================== INNINGS | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 ----------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+--- Belden | 0 | 0 | 0 | 3 | 0 | 0 | 0 | | Lakeville | 0 | 2 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | | | ==============================================
_Substitute No. 4_
Long before the spectacular ninth inning, you might have thoughtBonfire Cree had done his share. To him Bunny was indebted for manypitching hints: this Belden batter could not hit a ball around hisknees; this one was dazed by speed; this one crowded the plate and mustbe driven back by in-curves; this one swung awkwardly at shoulder-highpitches. Moreover, he had solved a certain sequence of deliveries bythe Belden twirler. Perhaps Bonner himself was unconscious of any orderin his pitches, but he began always with a coaxer, a little wide of theplate, following it with a straight, fast ball, squarely in the groove,and then with either an out or an in curve. Quite naturally, thisknowledge gave the batter an advantage.
All this aided greatly; but still Bonfire was not satisfied. He mighthave observed and tabulated these facts from the bench. They hadnothing to do with his own playing; and through eight long innings, hehad failed to distinguish himself at bat or in the field.
Just before the ninth inning began, with the score still 3-2 inBelden's favor, he turned to Bunny. "I am like a coach who never madethe team," he said, smiling a little wistfully. "I tell the others whatto do and how to do it; but I can't seem to use the information for myown good."
"Never mind," consoled Bunny. "You've helped as much as the best playeron the team. It looks bad now, I'll admit, but maybe we can stage arally in the last of the ninth."
Now, accidents will happen with the best of regulated batters. AfterBunny had fanned the boy who could not hit a ball around his knees byfeeding him nothing else, and added a second strike-out to his creditby scorching three sizzling pitches to the one who was not on battingterms with speed, the next fellow, who crowded the plate, upset allprecedent by taking one backward step and meeting an inshoot flush onthe nose.
The minute the ball was hit, Bonfire groaned. "That's good for threebases," he said positively, without even turning to watch its flightover right field.
Prissler chased dutifully after the ball, but it was far over his head.The best fielder in the world could never have reached it in time, andPrissler laid no claims to that title. Before he could pick it up,after it had rolled nearly to the fence, and line it to Jump, via arelay to S. S., the runner was squatting comfortably on third.
"Well! Well!" shouted some Belden fan who thought he was funny. "Theregoes your old ball game. Look who's up now--'Home-run' Hogan!"
The batter was squat and broad of shoulder. Already he was creditedwith three hits in this game, and Bonfire had confessed to Bunny thathe seemed to have no weakness.
"You just pitch to him," he had laughed, "and then throw up your handsto keep from getting hit by what he slams back at you."
Bunny measured this dangerous opponent a long time before he pitched.But when he finally shot over the first delivery, it was a cleanstrike. Out in left field, Bonfire nodded approvingly.
"No use to pass him," he agreed. "That Belden captain, Bonner, who isup next, is nearly as dangerous. No, the play is to make Hogan hit tosave fielder." Aloud he called, "Get him, Bunny!"
Hogan watched disdainfully as the second pitch zipped past, wide ofthe plate. You couldn't fool that fellow. But the third, waist-high,straight over, was exactly to his liking. With a hunch of his powerfulshoulders, he swung his mighty bludgeon of a bat hard against the ball.
It was a fly to left field, as long as the one that had baffledPrissler a moment before, but much higher. At the crack of the bat,Bonfire wheeled abruptly and began to run, picking a little tuft ofgrass, yards and yards away, as the target toward which the ball wasspeeding.
Head down, arms chugging, he ran as he had never run before. Even so,his hope of smothering the fly seemed utterly forlorn. In the firstplace, he was not a great sprinter; he probably could not reach itin time. But granting that his legs carried him over the ground fastenough, he had not gauged the course of the ball with his eyes; hecould never hope to turn at the last instant, and find the falling ballin his very path. The Belden fans jeered his amateurish efforts, andshouted encouragement to the circling Hogan.
As he lifted a foot to plump it down on the little tuft of grass,Bonfire jerked his head around and flung up his hands. Into them, asaccurately as if he had been watching it from the first, dropped theball. He had made the catch over his left shoulder, almost at his neck.
At first, the Belden fans were disgruntled. "Horseshoes!" yelled one indisgust; and, "You lucky fish!" wailed another. But, in the end, theyapplauded the wonderful play.
In a way, of course, as Bonfire readily admitted to himself, it wasluck: the same type of luck that makes a pitcher fling up a gloved handto shield his face from a screaming liner, only to have the ball hithis palm and stick there. But it was something more than mere luck inBonfire's case; it was the result of a whole season of observation andexperiment.
The secret of the catch was buried deep in the boy's peculiarlyinquisitive and analytic mind.
Big-league fielders did not wait till the ball was high in the airbefore running to get under it. At the crack of the bat, they were off.In the few professional games Bonfire had seen, he decided these starfielders estimated the force of the drive from the sound of crashingwood and horsehide, and the direction from the first glimpse of therising ball. It was a knack of determining the spot where the fly wouldland; a kind of baseball instinct that could be developed only byinfinite patience and observation.
At the beginning of the Lakeville season, Bonfire set himself thestint of training his eyes and ears. Day after day, while the ninepracticed or played games, he tested his own powers. Sometimes he saton the bench, alert to hear and see; somet
imes he wandered out towardthe fielders. But always, when a fly was hit, his ear registered thecrack of the flailing bat, and his eye followed the ascending ball.Then, abruptly, he turned away. It would fall on that spot, he guessed,picking a target in the outfield; or there; or there. At first,naturally, he was often yards and yards astray in his calculations;but as the season waned, with no lessening of his tense study, he camegradually to guessing closer and closer, till finally the accuracy ofhis snap decisions was almost uncanny.
"Bonfire," beamed Bunny happily, slapping the hero of the play on hisback, after the Lakeville team had come in for the last of the ninthinning, "that was the most wonderful catch I ever saw. Honest, it was.I didn't know you had it in you. Why didn't you try for the team thisspring?"
Bonfire stared at him quizzically. "Too big a coward, maybe," he said."I was such a dub in track events and football and basketball and inbaseball, too--last fall, I mean--that I didn't want to run the riskof being jeered and laughed at any more. Next season--" He allowed thesentence to remain unfinished, but his quick smile was more a promisethan any words could have been.
With Belden leading by one run, and the game almost over, Lakevillebegan the ninth inning with a do-or-die energy. Roundy, up first,singled cleanly. Ordinarily, that hit would have stirred the team intoecstasies; now it called forth only a few half-hearted cheers. ForRoundy was the last regular player on the batting list. After him, asSpecs put it tersely, came nothing. "Nothing", in this case, meant thefour substitutes.
Nap fouled out to the catcher. S. S. fanned; he always fanned, itseemed; if he had done anything else, the others would have thoughtit the end of the world. This brought Bonfire to bat, which is onlyanother way of saying that the game was apparently lost; for everyplayer on the Lakeville bench recalled his ludicrous attempts toconnect with the ball when they had tested him at Molly's picnic.
But Bonfire was undismayed. Accidents might happen. Hadn't he knockeda home run that first day of school? And hadn't he studied batting asassiduously as he had studied fielding through the long season?
He knew how to grip his bat, six or eight inches from the knob, and howto take a choppy swing with his wrists, body and arms, stepping forwardand sidewise to meet the ball. His older brother, who was something ofa celebrity in college baseball, had drilled him in these technicalpoints. During almost the whole of the Christmas holidays, when Bonfirehad visited him, the two had repaired to the baseball cage of thecollege gymnasium; big brother pitching and explaining, little brotherbatting and--more and more frequently as they progressed--hitting.Later in the spring, two other loyal friends, sworn to secrecy, hadthrown and thrown to him in the seclusion of the Cree backyard. Atthe outset, as in the fielding stunt, he had been chagrined over hisfailures. Little Jimmy White had fanned him; Molly Sefton had fannedhim. But the time came when neither could fool him, when his bat lashedhard and true against their best offerings.
It was with these memories in mind that Bonfire stood facing the Beldenpitcher. In the earlier innings, he had flied out once, walked twice,and missed a twisting third strike on his other trip to the plate.Bonner had him tabbed as a weakling with the bat; even his own teammates did not expect him to hit. Bonfire's lips set in a straight, firmline.
He waited unmoving as the first ball sped past. It was the usualcoaxer, a bit wide of the plate. But when the pitcher wound up again,Bonfire braced himself, breathing quickly. The straight, fast ball wasdue.
"I'm going to hit it," he told himself in a matter-of-fact way. "I'mgoing to hit it--hard."
The pitch began. From the coil of whirling arms, the ball leaped towardthe plate. At the same instant, Bonfire tensed the muscles of his armsand began the swing of his body. Ball and bat met exactly above thecenter of the plate.
"Over left-fielder's head," Bonfire exulted, trained ears and eyesdetermining the end of that parabola to be marked by the soaring ball,half liner, half fly. "Two-bagger, sure; maybe three."
He rounded first at full speed. Ahead of him somewhere, Roundy wastearing around the bases. A coacher waved excited arms to Bonfire. "Goon!" he shrieked. "Keep going!"
Just before his leg hit the sack at second, Bonfire stole a glancetoward left field. The ball was rolling along the ground now, farbeyond a youth who was frantically chasing after it. Bonfire swept onto third.
Roundy scored. Bunny, coaching off third, was threshing his arms wildlytoward home, as if he were intent upon sweeping the runner over theplate. "Go on, Bonfire!" he yelled. "You can make it!"
Legs pounding like flying piston rods, Bonfire began the last lap ofhis race against the ball. For half the distance between third andhome, he ran without hearing a sound from the Belden fans. The silencespurred him on. But suddenly they waked into rustling hope. The ballwas coming in. They murmured. They rumbled. They roared. They thunderedlike madmen. High above the din, Bonfire caught Specs' excited treble.
"Slide!" the voice vibrated. "Slide!"
Bonfire threw himself forward in a magnificent headlong dive. His handploughed toward the plate. Pebbles scratched his palm. Dust swirled upin clouds. And then, as his groping fingers found the cool rubber, heheard a thud above him, and the catcher clamped the ball hard on hisprotruding arm.
Bonfire leaped to his feet. The play had been close, very close.For an instant, he could see nothing but a cloud of dust. But as itcleared, his eyes found the umpire.
The man was leaning forward, arms flung wide, palms down. And he wassaying, "Runner is safe!"
Lakeville had won the game and the State interscholastic baseballchampionship,--Lakeville and its substitutes.
The score:
======================================================== INNINGS | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | |TOTAL ----------+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+--+------ Belden | 0 | 0 | 0 | 3 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | | 3 Lakeville | 0 | 2 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 2 | | 4 ========================================================
Boy Scouts of Lakeville High Page 26